


Big Spatula

by TuppingLiberty



Series: As the Universe Wills It - Force Husbands [17]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Injury, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 00:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12947499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: Seattle AUBaze gets injured in a household accident, and Chirrut accompanies him to the emergency room, then helps him deal with it afterwards.Yesterday I was like "I need some Baze Malbus hurt/comfort in my life" and well, write the stuff you want to read, and all that.





	Big Spatula

**2017**

“Auuuurgh!”

Chirrut’s heart leapt into his throat at Baze’s sound of alarm and pain. He shoved the book off of his lap and pushed to his feet, then stumbled to the wall without bothering to grab his cane, his heart pounding as he headed toward the kitchen. “Baze?” he yelled, annoyance snapping into his voice that was only fueled by fear. “What’s wrong?”

When he rounded into the kitchen, he stilled so he could hear as he gripped the door jamb. “Baze? Talk to me.” He heard the desperation in his voice and tried to squash it down.

There was a groan from in front of him, and heavy breathing. “I’m-” Baze sounded like he was talking through gritted teeth. “I’m- fuck.”

Chirrut made to step forward, and Baze shouted, “No! Don’t!”

He immediately stopped. “Baze, baby, you have to tell me-”

“I dropped a glass, it’s not safe.”

“And you’re hurt?” Chirrut’s nails dug into the wood of the door jamb.

Baze let out a shuddery sigh. “Yeah, I was leaning over to pick up the biggest piece, and I kind of overbalanced, and it’s, uh. In my hand now. There’s, um. A lot of blood. I think- _fuck,_ it hurts.”

“Are you holding something to it?” Chirrut asked quickly, body straining to hold himself back from swooping in to help.

Baze’s “Yeah” was small and tired sounding. Chirrut had rarely felt more useless in his life.

“Can you make your way through the glass? I’m calling us a Lyft. And I’ll get your coat and wallet. Just meet me in the living room, okay? Keep applying pressure, _lăo gong._ And hold it above your heart. And don’t take the piece of glass out.”  There. That all made him feel a little more in charge. “Can you do that for me, Baze?”

“I- yeah.” He heard Baze start to move towards him.

Chirrut rushed into action, heading back to the bedroom to grab his phone and call up a Lyft, then gathering everything they’d need for the hospital. He made his way back to Baze, who was sitting on an ottoman in the living room. As he wrapped Baze’s coat carefully around his shoulders, he felt Baze shivering underneath him. He drew Baze’s face to his stomach, stroking over his cheek and hair. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Baze nuzzled into his stomach as Chirrut brushed away tears from his cheek. He felt Baze look up. “Chirrut,” he whispered, and his voice was so tiny, Chirrut froze.

“Yes?” he asked, still holding Baze to him.

“I can’t feel my fingers.”

Chirrut could barely make out his words, but when he did, adrenaline spiked through him. “That’s just the shock,” he murmured with more confidence than he felt. He sent a silent prayer out into the universe that it was the truth.  

The Lyft ride was a blur of motion centered around Chirrut holding Baze’s hand and whispering reassurances in his ear. The driver, at least, was remarkably chill about the whole thing. Chirrut vowed to remember to give her an amazing rating.

They dealt with the hassle of signing in and filling out paperwork and dealing with insurance, and then finally, blessedly, they were in a private room, awaiting a nurse. Chirrut tried not to worry over the fact that they’d been passed through to the back very quickly. He’d listened very intently to every voice as they examined Baze’s hand, and no one had sounded panicked, which he tried to take comfort in. It was slowly killing him that he didn’t know exactly how bad the injury was.

They were seated side by side in chairs in the private room, and Chirrut was rubbing over the knuckles of Baze’s uninjured hand. “Tell me a story, anything, _lăo gong,_ please,” Baze whispered.

The only time Chirrut remembered hearing Baze this scared and helpless was when Chirrut had fallen and broken his elbow. Chirrut swallowed, hoping at least his face looked brave. “Did I ever tell you about the time I walked in on Bodhi and Cassian?” he asked, knowing full well he’d told Baze this story ad nauseum.

“No,” Baze replied, but his voice sounded a little lighter, like maybe he was smiling.

“So I was working late at the museum one night, because you were out of town, and I get lonely at home when you’re not there.” He paused, lifting Baze’s knuckles to his lips. It wasn’t the sort of thing he normally admitted aloud. “And I hear some banging in the other room, and I swear to god, I thought we were in the middle of some type of grand heist, Italian Job style, so I pull out my phone and get ready to kick Mark Wahlberg’s ass.”

“Mhmm,” Baze hummed. Chirrut knew, of course, exactly how Baze felt about this particular brand of Chirrut stupid. Had lectured him many, many times about the necessity of calling security _first._

“So I creep into the next room, ready to send out the 911, when I hear the _unmistakable_ sound of someone’s cock getting sucked. I mean, I _know._ ” He felt Baze’s body shake a little in laughter. He didn’t have to have a hand on his face to tell that his husband was also shaking his head at him. “So I bring up the phone to call Bodhi and report some errant teens getting it on in the Ming exhibit, or something, and then Bodhi’s ringtone goes off, in the room. In the, uh, vicinity of the cock sucking.”

“You cock blocker,” Baze muttered, a rueful smile apparent in his voice.

Chirrut shrugged. “It all worked out in the end, didn’t it? Which reminds me, I need to send them our RSVP still.”

“Chir, I put that in your work bag like, a week ago.” It was good to hear Baze's exasperation.

“I know, I know, I’ll give it to him. Here, I’ll put a reminder on my phone.” He pulled out his phone, but Baze cut him off.

“I’m just going to have to take it in myself, aren’t I?” he grumbled. “Good-for-nothing husband.” His muttering was good natured, and he leaned over to brush a kiss over Chirrut’s forehead. “Thank you.”

There was a hitch in his gratitude, the sound of tears, and Chirrut shushed him with another, “It’s going to be okay.”

Two people walked in at that point, a doctor and nurse, and thus began the bustling noises of treating Baze’s hand. He had to move away from Chirrut, up to the patient table, flanked by the workers so Chirrut couldn’t hold his hand.

Although both of the medical professionals explained what they were doing as they went along, Chirrut had found over the years that, even when it was he who was injured, they never explained in enough detail for him. His anxiety spiked as he sat and strained to hear even the minutest sound from Baze’s lips to help him understand how he was doing. God, all he wanted to do was just _touch_ Baze, to feel his warmth beneath his fingers, to know he was okay.

The workers were muttering about the exact procedure they wanted to use to remove the embedded glass. “It’s a nice, smooth cut at least, Mr. Malbus,” the deeper male voice murmured.

“Will it- will it heal back the same?” Baze asked, his voice gruff, and Chirrut could hear the anxiety in it. “I can’t feel my fingertips and I’m- I’m an artist, I need-”

Chirrut’s heart thundered in his chest as he clenched his hands together uselessly. That was the _first time_ _,_ literally, he’d ever heard Baze refer to himself as an artist. Tears sprang to his eyes. “A beautiful artist,” Chirrut concurred, looking up in their direction. “Pottery. Gorgeous. He needs his fingers.”

From the different volume of his voice, Chirrut could tell the doctor was speaking to both of them, back and forth. “I won’t know better until after the extraction, when I can see inside. There might be nerve damage, but also, you’ve, uh, quite irritated the nerves, and they may just be cranky.”

“Cranky?” Baze asked faintly.

“He doesn’t know what you mean,” Chirrut responded drily before he could think better of it, but was rewarded with a small wry laugh from Baze. Hey, he knew his husband pretty well after all these years.

The doctor laughed. “Could be, after a few days rest, when the swelling has gone down, your nerves will be working again. Could be, it’ll take a little bit of physical therapy to get them going.” His voice grew more serious. “Could be, your fingertips won’t be as sensitive as they used to be. I don’t want to give you false hope. We really won’t know for awhile.”

The room was silent for a moment as he and Baze digested that. Then, the workers murmured together, and the doctor finally said, “Okay, we’re going to start the numbing shots so we can get that out of there. You ready?”

“I- wait, I-”

When Baze stopped, Chirrut sat up fully. “What do you need, Baze?”

“I- could I- could my husband come sit over here with me?” he finally asked, voice sheepish but needy.

“Of course,” the doctor replied.

Chirrut immediately stood and offered his arm to be guided to a place where he would be out of the way. Turns out he’d have to stand by Baze’s table, but that was okay; at least here he could reach Baze’s good hand. He wrapped it in his, and squeezed it tightly. As he waited, he felt Baze lay his head down on his shoulder, and he turned his head to kiss Baze’s hair.

“Okay, ready,” Baze whispered, a little more steady sounding.

\----------------------------

Chirrut spent the next two days pampering Baze, keeping him entertained, but also letting him mope about his hand as need be. Everyone needed a little mourning and anxiety time, Chirrut knew. Plus, the pain pills made Baze sleepy, which seemed to naturally lend itself to moping.

Despite Baze’s protesting, Chirrut took Monday off from work as well. They were nearing the end of the swelling/irritation period, and Baze’s depression about not being able to feel his fingers still seemed to be deepening.

He wanted to be here for Baze. He also wished Baze would just open up to him about the whole thing rather than keeping his worry to himself like he always did.

And so he’d elected to stay home on Monday and force the issue.

He gave Baze the morning, but by the afternoon, both he and Baze were restless. At the third heavy sigh from Baze’s side of the couch, Chirrut set his book down. “Okay, _lăo gong,_ talk to me.”

Baze grumbled something unintelligible.

Chirrut poked his side, angling his fingers between the ribs, where it would annoy the most.

“Ow! Hey, I’m already injured, here.”

Chirrut poked him again. “So?”

“So- so- so-”

“So what? Let you sit around and mope?”

The sound that came out of Baze’s mouth was part frustrated growl, part exasperated sigh. “When you put it that way…”

Chirrut beamed at him.

“Shut up,” Baze answered reflexively.

Chirrut’s grin just went wider.

“I’m _not_ moping! Shut up!”

Chirrut cleared his throat haughtily and opened his book again. “Oh, well. Obviously I was mistaken.”

More frustration growling. “I might never throw again and you’re acting like I’m a whiny baby-”

“And there we go.” Chirrut shut the book and looked back at him, arching his brow.

“What does that mean?”

“I let you mope around this weekend because, I know you’re hurting and hey, I’ve been there. Everyone needs some moping time. But consider this me big-spatulaing you out of Mopecon 1.”

Chirrut could practically hear Baze frown.

“If I can’t throw, Chir-” He heard the anger-tears in Baze’s voice.

“I sincerely doubt that the magnificent Baze Malbus won’t be able to figure out how to throw again, even with a disability to overcome.”

“I- it’s not-” Baze fell into silence. “I didn’t think of it like that,” he admitted quietly.

Chirrut shrugged, then scooted over until he was perched in Baze’s lap, cupping his face, feeling the frown lines. _“If_ that happens, I know in my heart that you are completely capable of figuring out how to make your life work.” He leaned in to rest his forehead against Baze’s, and felt Baze’s contented sigh. “You have been throwing for almost twenty years. You’re going to be able to figure this out.”

“I didn’t realize it was- this sounds stupid, Chir.”

“Baze.” Chirrut’s tone was deadpan.

“Yeah, right. I guess _that_ sounded stupid.” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t realize it was so much a part of me, until I- I had to think seriously about not being able to do it.”

Chirrut brushed a small comfort kiss over Baze’s lips. “I know. Had a little existential crisis, didn’t you?”

“Mhmm,” Baze said, all high-pitched, and then laughed.

Chirrut joined him, feeling tears spring into his eyes at the happy noise. “There you are,” he murmured, letting the relief seep into his voice.

“I’m going to be fine.”

“Yes, you are.”

“And I’m going to figure this out.”

“Yes, you are.”

“And I’m an artist.”

Chirrut grinned. “Yes, you are. Temperamental, and everything.”

Baze laughed again. “I am _not_ one of your temperamental artist friends.”

“No,” Chirrut readily agreed. “You’re my temperamental artist _husband.”_

He was still laughing as Baze growled and wrapped his hand behind Chirrut’s neck to bring him close. He crushed their mouths together, drowning Chirrut’s giggles.

Chirrut settled in, stroking over Baze’s cheeks and sweeping his tongue into Baze’s mouth. He melted into Baze’s body, feeling the warmth of love and happiness slide through him.

“Ouch-” Baze broke off the kiss, hissing. “Oh, fuck-”

Chirrut sat up, alarmed. “What did I do? Did I press your hand? Oh god, Baze, I’m so sorry-”

“No, no, I-” He broke off, and under Chirrut’s fingers, he felt Baze’s grin. “Baby, I, _fuck-_ I can feel my finger tips!”

“What?” Chirrut grinned and leaned back. “Really? If you’re not joking, I’m going to claim I brought the feeling back into your hand through my magically restorative kisses.”

Baze laughed, then hissed again. “Yeah, fuck, okay, nerves, I get it, you’re there.” He felt Baze shake his injured hand, then stop and groan. “No, okay, bad idea.”

Excited, Chirrut leaned in for another kiss, received a second from an ecstatic Baze. “Okay, well, you’re good to take another pain pill if you want, or the doc said you could switch to something with less strength now.” He swept his fingers over Baze’s face, then pressed kisses all over it, before he scooted off Baze’s lap.

He felt Baze’s weight leave the couch, and then he was being hauled up by Baze’s good hand, into a close embrace. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, so you’re never allowed to leave, okay?” Baze whispered, his voice rough again.

“Okay,” Chirrut whispered back. “I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! Comments are always really lovely and appreciate, as are kudos!


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